Of Betrayal
by Miranda le Ginger
Summary: Betrayal...how can one who loves their country commit such an atrocity? However, for Loghain Mac Tir, everything is not so black and white. How a hero falls so far down from grace...there is more than meets the eye.


A/N: I hate Loghain, I really do. But, I figured he needed to have a voice, explaining his insane actions and betrayals. Very soon, once the first two of my _Journals _series are complete, I will be writing a commission I was given a few days ago. The project will be long, and if I pull it off, a rewarding journey. So, in order to perform a worthy story, I have practiced my Loghain chops on this. I am rather proud of it, and it does tie in to my other story, _Redemption_, featuring Ser Cauthrien's viewpoint. Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope, I do **not** own Dragon Age or the wonderfully awesome characters. The greatness that is Bioware owns the rights; I, the humble writer, am just trying my hand.

The truth. Everyone wants to know the truth of the events at Ostagar; my retreat, my feelings on the subject…my opposers say that it was nothing more than a betrayal, a betrayal of the most grievous kind. And they would be right, in a way. In truth, I did betray the king. I was supposed to lead my soldiers to the battle, turning the tide and ending the so called Blight in a battle most glorious. All I had to do was give the word, once the two Warden recruits lit the beacon. But, though the beacon was light as promised…the signal never came. The only signal I ever gave was to sound a retreat.

Fereldens died…many, many countrymen. The tragedy of Ostagar was one that would be sung from every corner of the world; in Ferelden, in all of Thedas. But it had to happen. Cailan was not ready for the crown; he never was, and honestly he never would be. He tried so hard to emulate his father, the late King Maric. Cailan dreamed of greatness, of riding into battle alongside those accursed Grey Wardens, swinging his father's majestic sword around and howling out orders. He dreamed that the Blight would end, and he would be spoke of in legends; never to completely fade from obscurity, immortal in a sense.

The fool; the damnded, young fool. I had high hopes for him as a lad, and arranging a union between him and Anora had been what I had thought a sound decision. But, alas, the boy had inherited his mother's defunct genes. Apparently none of Maric's cleverness and strength was to be had in his son. I never hated Cailan, as some would have my people think. No, a part of me loved him, loved him like a surrogate son. But his foolish notions and wildhat dealings with Orlais would be the downfall of Ferelden. I love my country; nobody, not even those who are not on my side, can argue against that. Everything I do, I do because I want to protect my home, and my future generations. Mac Tir was a name that would not appear in the history books; it would not even be a speck in the minds of those born into nobility. But, my heroism against Orlais changed all that.

I am a hero, at least in the eyes of my sympathizers. Ser Cauthrien, my right hand, is one such person. She is loyal, amazing with a blade, a good strategist…the woman is like the second child I never had. I love her as much as I do my flesh and blood. People say vile things about her; call her my lapdog and a whore… they are wrong on all accounts. There is no physical gratification from us, no lust or anything other than that of a mentor and a pupil. Besides, I know whose eye she truly seeks.

Cousland. The other noble family, the only one that could contest the blood of even Therein. I know what Howe did, all the gruesome, horrifying details. Although it sickened me, especially my inaction, it was a necessary evil. Cailan had to die, and Ostagar had to be the tomb. But I did regret having to use innocents to accomplish my greater goal. But, one Cousland managed to survive the massacre that took her family and friends. Reyn Cousland, the stubborn, stoic daughter of Bryce and Eleanor. I remember her from my rare visits; she was beautiful, good with a blade, and a rival of Ser Cauthrien. The two had actually been good friends, once upon a time. But, Cauthrien longed for greatness, in the image of gleaming armor and blood-soaked blade.

My right hand wanted to break free from her image of lower standing and emerge as a woman, a true knight. Reyn, too, wanted to determine her destiny at the point of a sword and as the hero bespoken in tales. But Reyn was nobility, and although she would not be the eventual successor, she still had an obligation to her status and country. So I whisked Cauthrien away, and kept the two women apart. I could sense the power residing in the youngest Cousland, and it shook me to my core. I felt threatened by her, and in no way was a disciple of mine going to fall prey to her charms.

But, my poor girl did indeed fall, and fall hard. Reyn had become a Grey Warden following the destruction of her own, and had been present at Ostagar. The older Warden, one of the few I ever truly respected, had brought her and several others in as recruits. The other two did not make it, but Reyn did. She and the other one, Alistair, the one that is supposedly Maric's bastard, were the ones to light the beacon. How they survived, I've no idea. But, survive they did, and what thorns in my side they have been. The two Wardens have been going around, gaining allies for the fake Blight, brought upon by the own Grey Wardens.

They had remained two steps ahead of me, filling my people's head with lies. So I fought back, sending assassins after the band in hopes that they would forever be silenced and I could save Ferelden, as it should have been. But the damn Cousland girl made it through everything unscathed, becoming a symbol to all of the rebels. So, I devised a hasty plan. I allowed Howe, the sneaky son-of-a-whore, to whisk my daughter away and put her under lock and key. Then, I sent her personal maid to weave a convincing tale so as to capture the good-hearted Warden. I knew she would take the call. Cauthrien was there as well. Howe was killed by Cousland, avenging her fallen parents and allowing my daughter to be "saved." Only for Cauthrien to give her an ultimatum, when captured: fight to the death, or surrender and the companions would walk.

Reyn accepted, of course. She was tortured by the best of the best. The guards were hand-picked for their skill and loyalty to me. I worried about Cauthrien, though. I knew the Cousland still had a hold over her, but hoped her fealty to me would be enough for her to endure. Except, Reyn did escape. The next I saw of her was at the Landsmeet. I saw the fire in her blue eyes, burning through me like a witch at the stake. The hatred, the utter loathing was…disconcerting. I knew then that Cauthrien had both failed me…and made me proud. She had obviously been killed by the Warden, but she died as my follower. I did not listen to the voice at the back of my head that whispered the true reason for her failure. Her love for the youngest Cousland heir could have absolutely _nothing_ to do with her eventual death.

I stood my ground, lashing out at the Wardens and their laughingstock of a king. I spoke to the nobles, trying to gain their favor as best as I could, using my title as both hero and regent to my advantage. However, the Cousland brat was intelligent, to say the least. She countered my arguments, letting fly her own barbed accusations. Her letter, signed by my hand, telling about the slavery of the elves was damning, and her account of the Battle of Ostagar was powerful. It was Anora's testimony, my own daughter, who sunk my ship. The girl was a politician born, far more deserving of royalty than her deceased husband. When the vote was cast, I lost by a margin. But, I was not going out in a whimpering bout of candle flame; no, if I was to die, I would go as an inferno. I called for a duel, between Cousland and I. I knew, without a shred of doubt, that she would accept and fight me herself, instead of choosing a champion. _Good, Alistair would be far too easy. Let them witness the death of the last Cousland; cinching my role as leader effectively._

The battle was fierce. Reyn had trained with blades for many years, ever since she could lift one. But I had not gained the title of hero for naught. I clipped her with my blade many times, marking her precious flesh and surely leaving several scars that would never fade. But the botch marked me as well. Blood welled up from several key areas, dripping down my body and armor. Blades clanged, the crowd scarcely breathing. My sword gouged a deep slice in her right bicep; her arm no longer able to hold her blade aloft. I crowed victoriously, going in for the kill. But it was I who was played for a fool. For, apparently, Reyn was ambidextrous and had trained her left hand to wield a sword. She quickly switched hands in a display of swordsmanship that wholly impressed, and knocked my own away. Before I could lunge away or pull out any tricks from my armor, her beloved Starmetal drove deep into my chest.

My breath…coming in short, staccato gasps. Blood trickles out of the corner of my mouth, giving staining Ferelden. I always said I would give my blood, my very life essence, to my country; it has come to pass, though far sooner than I would have liked. My ruined chest ached fiercely, blossoming in vicious stabs of pain. But, a cold hand was gripping my heart and lungs, blotting out the painful wound. I was becoming incased in a frozen embrace, soon to leave my world behind. "Father!" Anora screamed, landing beside me on her knees. I could see the guilt in her eyes at her damning testimony, but I felt nothing but a fierce, fatherly pride.

"Do…do not…feel…guilt, my daughter. You…you have become so….so great. You have made me…pr-proud." "Oh, father…I did not want it to end like this…I know you were just trying to save us all… why could you not have done it differently?" I coughed, blood hitting my armor. "When a person...loves their country…they do inhuman things. I did...what I thought best. I am…sorry...I fa-fai-failed you." My eyes turned to Reyn. She was standing tall, covered in both my own and her blood…and I assumed Cautherien's. Her eyes were, strangely, sympathetic, though cold at the same time. I knew in that moment that Reyn would be the savior of Ferelden; the Hero of legends. "Cousland...I am truly…sorry about your parents. I have done…some terrible things…for my country. Please, please…save her."

Reyn nodded tightly, averting her eyes. "Wait, Reyn…" Her eyes turned again towards me, listening. "Bury...bury Cauthrien, please… I care not what happens to me, but she…was a good person. She...deserves respect, and honor. She…loved you, Reyn. Despite my…feelings, that girl loved you, with…all that she was. She knew not…love or peace in life…but…give her it…in death." I could see the shock in her eyes; she truly did not know of Cauthrien's feelings. Tears threatened to fall from blue eyes, as recognition flared. She was obviously going through all the conversations the two had gone though. I nodded to myself; I knew without a shred of misgiving that Cousland would bestow a fitting burial for my dear pupil. I could die easy, now. My eyes slowly closed; flickering lights danced in the little vision remaining. I heard voices, voices telling me to _stay awake! Please, oh please, don't leave me! _But I had done what I had to; it is in the Maker's hands now. _Cousland…do what I never could have. Save Ferelden, keep my daughter safe. Fulfill your destiny…I know Bryce would have been proud_. And then…I felt…nothing.


End file.
